Free Running (Open)

[Navisya Curare]

OOCFeel free to jump in. Spring 50th, 512 "Heel" had been one of the first commands Tevander had taught to Navisya's dog. In Kalinor and in the mountainous regions outside the cavern, it had been vital for Zlynge to understand that he was safer at the feet of his masters than potentially wandering off a cliff or into the black depths of the cavern gorge. Dogs were intelligent and obedient, but they did not come close to possessing the grace and balance of the Symenestra, who were so well adapted to their perilous environment. It was the responsibility of Zlynge's owner to keep him safe and help him acclimate to a world meant for people who could stick to walls. However, Zlynge and Navisya were no longer in Kalinor. The desert had no such perils, only miles and miles of sand dunes and debatably solid ground. Without sheer cliffs, dark ledges, and slick patches of snow and loose gravel, it was difficult for Zlynge to understand the danger of his own freedom. Here was a wide, flat open space with a brilliant, open sky and intriguing new scents. The mystery of this new place called to him. "Heel" as a command worked only initially, but soon the word was repeated so much that it lost all meaning to him. Obedience was the last thing on his mind. He had new territory to claim. It wasn't easy, but somehow Navisya had convinced Zlynge to come with her to the gates of Ahnatep. The dog weighed more than she did, and he could yank so hard on his short leash that for a while, she'd feared her arms would come loose from their sockets. It was their first day in the new city, and the both of them were relieved to be off that terrible, rocking ship and its astounding odors. Zy quickly forgot about the ship altogether, soon running circles around the Symenestra's feet to get a good look in all directions. This was new, this was shiny, there were so many new smells! And he had to tell everyone, in his deafening canine language. The best thing to do was to take Zlynge somewhere relatively safe so she could unhook his leash and let him run rampant to his heart's content. By the time Navisya had taken Zlynge from the harbor to outside the city's gates, her limbs were just about ready to fall off. She was cursing at him, not that he could hear her underneath his excited barking, but at least the both of them would know relief. The Symenestra leaned down to unfasten her dog's leash, and as soon as the pressure was off his neck, Zlynge took off like an arrow into the nearby dunes. A cloud of dust rose in his wake, and followed him in every mad direction he darted. "Thank the Gods." Now free of her best friend, Navisya was able to enjoy the new sights of the city for herself. The sun was blinding upon the reflective sands, forcing her to squint if she wanted to look up at all, but the golden land that opened all around her was a shimmering work of art. Her scarlet, silk cape quickly became sweltering, but she feared sunburns if she removed it. The hood was tossed back at least, exposing her wispy white hair to the savagery of the Eyktolian winds. A wary glance was given to the Eypharian guards at the gate, who so far had given her quizzical, but dismissive looks and returned to their vigil. While Zlynge ran circles in the sand some yards out, Navisya leaned back to examine the stone form of the Lady of Ahnatep.

[Gracen]

He trained out in the desert where the land itself pushed him to the edge of his abilities, but all he was on the horizon was the winking of his swords. They were both of them curved elegantly, one longer than the other, and he spun and fought imaginary opponents, or perhaps the ghosts and shadows of his guilty past. It was hours out there, the tip of his blade spinning so close to the sand that the wind of its passing slashed an arcing divot into it, as if his swordplay were calligraphy and he were writing a letter to the gods of the sky. A meditation. Two swords and three enemies; he would need another blade. Come out, come out wherever you are. But they were not in this stretch of desert, and he was thirsty. It was a strange balance with one sword being longer than the other, but he swung them in tandem, and then into different forms, the better to distract and dismay an enemy. The longer blade went into its scabbard, bend upward. With two hands holding the shorter blade, with its less obvious curvature, he began to move much faster, with series of shorter chops, vicious thrusts when he could make his momentum rebound from an imaginary parry. That was a slash to disembowel, and that was the loss of a hand at the wrist. That was dead twice over, crack to the head and a stab through the throat. His imagination had been fostered when he had learned these forms forever ago, and he had stopped questioning whether it was a good thing that he could feel the hot wet spatters of blood on his skin... Finally it was time to return, and he ran across the burning sands, ran as if his life depended on it. Of course, his life did depend upon it. The desert killed the foolish and unready, even so close to the oasis of Ahnatep. His boots hit the sand, shifting fit to break an ankle until he achieved the road again with its packed hard surface that wouldn't betray his feet so. His arms pumped and his chest and gut heaved like a bellows to keep that burning air moving in and out of his lungs. As he approached the gate, though, he noticed something moving. Upon closer inspection, a dog frolicking. It sighted him and he sighed, wondering if he would have to kill a dog just to get back into the city. Some of them were vicious, especially the ones trained to fight each other to the death for sport.

[Navisya Curare]

True to everything Navisya had read at the Cribellum, sand was a cretinous swarm of tiny demons with the sole intention of crawling into every tiny space. Even the breaths she took were grainy and tasted alkaline, and every time she rubbed at the corners of her eyes, she was digging out tiny pebbles from their catching corners. She'd given up already on the sand caked between her toes and under feet between her sandals, trying defeat the sensation with cool tolerance and, hopefully, eventual ignorance. If she didn't practice her patience, this was going to get old very quickly. As a distraction, Navisya drew the wooden rod of her shortbow from her back, planting one end on the ground and pressing down with her weight to make it bend. With one free hand, she pulled a wad of thick string from a side pocket on her satchel, bending down further to loop the string over one end of the bow. Now that she was off the boat and in the unfamiliar arms of the lavish Ahnatep, it would be better if she kept her weapon strung and ready on the off chance that she might need it for more than just hunting. After looping the other end of the string on the top of the bow, Navisya straightened carefully. A few plucks of the string assured that it was properly in place. Once more, she looked over her shoulder at the Eypharian guards, who'd taken notice of her arming herself. To show them that she was more concerned with own affairs than sticking an arrow into anyone inside the city, Navisya faced the dunes and began trudging away from the gates, her sandals sinking into the Eyktol sands with every step. A plume of beige dust gave away Zlynge's location, just over a short, rolling hill. Navisya marched with surprising grace toward him, the wind wreaking havoc on her shining, silken cape. Her lean, tall form was exposed as the scarlet drape became more like a flag that struggled to escape her shoulders, whipping wildly off to her side. Her attire beneath was elegant and formfitting, a mostly-white shirt crowning a pair of dark, slick leggings. The color her skin was porcelain in the sunlight, and coupled with the brilliant white cotton of her hair, Navisya looked more as if she belonged on some shelf of delicate collectibles, not out in dry and merciless desert hills. She almost looked like a thing of purity. A desperate, new series of frantic barks were thrown into the dry air. Navisya at first assumed that he had found a rabbit or a snake, or whatever tiny animals the desert hid in its little crevices. It was only when she reached the summit of the dune that she saw the shape of a man running toward her dog. Zlynge had planted himself nervously in one spot, unsure of how to react to the approaching stranger. The sickening rush of a mother's worry flooded the cavity in Navisya's chest. "Zlynge! Heel! Heel!" The brindled, mahogany dog looked backward at Navisya, seeming to hesitate. Finally, he bolted back toward her, barking still just in case she hadn't noticed the other man yet. Although she couldn't tell his intentions from where she stood, Navisya held her bow in front of her so that he could see she wasn't helpless. Zlynge staked his place beside the lean pillar of Navisya's leg. She kept her golden eyes on the stranger, one hand placed firmly at the side of her dog's neck. A steadying gesture, usually used to keep him from barreling after her quarry. "My apologies if he startled you," Navisya called when the man was close enough. She noted that he had only two arms—human. Interesting. "I didn't think anyone would be out here."

[Gracen]

A Benshira man had once told him, "Four things cannot be hidden -- love, smoke, a pillar of fire and a man striding across the open desert." Gracen had gone on to deflower the man's daughter, but he had been right. Unfortunately, he passed on his wisdom by rote, and it just didn't work that way, at least not in Gracen's experience. The dog fled before him, but only to hover beside a slender figure in red. He slowed as he approached only because they were directly between him and the city gates. He had no real wish to converse with anyone out in the desert, whether person of afreet, but to take a wide berth around them might be rude too, and he had no great wish to fight someone for no reason. People could be sticklers for respectful treatment; Gracen was one of them sometimes. Eventually he stopped, unable to speak at first as his lungs worked on the furnace-hot air. But from his respectful distance, blue eyes watched woman -- Symenestra woman -- and dog. He was armed and so was she, though hers was the more menacing stance. Silence would remain unbroken, then, if she chose not to speak, at least until he had caught his breath. So he remained somewhere between levels of pride, whether to draw out the moment so very long or attempt to speak and prove unable, double over and wish his health were back to optimal. Instead he stood there watching.

[Navisya Curare]

Needled, thin fingers curled in Zlynge's fur and loose skin. The stranger had stopped, but only stooped to pant and catch his breath. Navisya pretended not to be wary of him, turning to look down at her dog as if to ask his opinion. Apprehension nipped beneath her skin, and she childishly wished her father were nearby to give her advice and instruct her on accosting unfamiliar persons while alone in strange places. It didn't happen often, not in Kalea. She noticed the weapons on his sides, but it was his silence that made her uneasy. The least he could have done was flash a smile or make some kind of gesture. What was his business out here, anyway? Navisya knew that humans were the minority in Ahnatep, and wondered what sort of man would live where the odds didn't favor him. She turned back to the human, watching him for another weighted moment. Finally, she made a decisive, sweeping gesture with her bow, pointing toward the gates of Ahnatep. "Don't let us keep you," she said to him, more pleasantly now that she didn't have to yell. Her accent was thick, softening the formation of her consonants as if her voice itself were woven from the same silk of her dress. It occurred to her, belatedly, that the human might not speak Common at all. There had been some Arumenic translations in her reading, but Navisya would not be equipped enough to hold a legible conversation in the Eypharian's tongue.

[Gracen]

Indeed, he spoke Common, though his dialect was still redolent with the drawl of summer. His words were polite enough, but his voice was forceful and confident. He had survived for so very long on his own; one learned to let that confidence be a sword and a shield, and a banner, as well, to warn off any who might consider taking advantage of a body. "No rush," he assured her, though he had been running. He had removed his shirt to feel the breeze, and his skin was slick with perspiration, not dark, but golden with the sunlight. He was no stranger to the sun, but if he was golden, he was tarnished too. "Nice dog," he noted.

[Navisya Curare]

There was a mild change in Navisya's features, accompanied with the skeptical twist of head, as if viewing the human from the corners of her eyes would somehow reveal his secrets. Her chin dipped and lifted again as she made a quick sweep of the stranger's form. His skin bore the colors of sunset, and glittered with sweat like the surface of the sand. A white eyebrow lifted. He would be handsome, if he weren't so filthy. "Zlynge," she responded, the silken word slipping from her tongue as easily as water from a spout, possessing sounds not native to the Common tongue. "He is called Zlynge. And thank you." Navisya's needle-like fingers slipped through the short fur on the dog's head, scratching around her ears. The dog was still tense, too focused on the human to even pant. The slow motions of her hands were placating, more than affectionate. Navisya planted one end of her bow in the sand near her feet, resting her slender, ashen end upon its top. She could feel the sun hot on the exposed skin of her arms. There could be no preventing the sunburns. The Eypharians must have had a method for dealing with this, or was their gilded skin immune? "I was taking him out for a bit of exercise." She nodded toward the human. "You look like you've been out in the sun too long."

[Gracen]

"Zlynge," he managed, passable even with his accent. He might have been a gilt knight out of a fairy story if it weren't for the dirt on his skin and the danger in his movements. It was probably impossible for him to present an entirely benign appearance now, so long had his mind been bent toward revenge. He called it retribution at first or, better, justice, but illusions fell away sometimes with age, and in his maturity he had fewer illusions about his goals. Perfection is finally attained not when there is nothing more to add, but when there is nothing left to take away, when a body has been stripped down to its nakedness. A mind, the same. And a soul. But he shrugged off her concern, if it was even concern at all. "The sun and the sand are my allies. They make me stronger. I will survive."